Songbird
by Granuaile the Pirate Princess
Summary: Erik teaches yet another orphan girl to sing. Perhaps this one won't run away? Rated T for a semisexual assault.


**author's note: This is an old piece of work, that I didn't really have the time or energy to rewrite much. Hope its of a little bit of interest to the reader. Enjoy!**

**As usual, Erik does not belong to me, although he does reside in my bedroom closet with Jareth the Goblin King. You should hear the fights between those two...**

Orielle slipped quietly into the alley and ducked behind a rubbish bin. The footsteps following her clattered by on the cobbles, and she held her breath. They died away in the distance, and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Where did she say that window was?" Looking around, she saw the barred window that her mother's mistress had told her of in her stories. "So it is true, at least this much." Her fingers fumbled at the latch, numb and clumsy with cold. It finally gave, and she slipped through it into the shadows below.

Before her was a labyrinth of darkened passages. Which one to take? The Countess' stories had never been clear on how one could reach the Phantom, only that the window in the alley was the only way in from the outside of the Opera Populaire. There were other, better ways within, but no one was about to let a ragged orphan girl who had no formal voice teaching into the finest opera house in Paris. So she chose the right-hand passage and walked resolutely in that direction, hoping that her mother's spirit would guide her steps. She hummed the lullaby her mother had sung to her since her birth, a song from an old opera, the only song her mother truly knew in full besides common folk songs. She sang a few words, just to break the silence. "Dear April child...hmm hmm hmm... Ahh!" She shrieked, for someone had just grabbed her wrist.

She turned to see a woman with blonde hair, a few years older than herself, about the age of the Countess. "What are you doing here?"

Orielle trembled. If someone found her out, she would be sent back. "I...I... I was looking for..."

The woman's countenance changed from one of anger to one of concern. "You were looking for him, weren't you, for the Phantom? Child, let me warn you, he is not a person to be looking for."

"But I want him to teach me to sing, like he taught the Countess! It is my only hope. I must learn to sing, to sing in the opera and make my way in the world. Or else I must go back to the workhouse."

The woman looked her over. "I have a better idea. You shall come to live in the ballet dormitories. You are a little old to be learning to dance now, but I think I may still teach you. Come with me, have something to eat, and then go to bed. I am Meg Giry, the daughter of the head ballet teacher at the Opera Populaire. No one will question why you are there. If in the morning you still wish to find the Phantom, I will show you the way."

Orielle simply shook her head. "No. I must find the Phantom. Tonight."

Meg sighed. "Very well. First of all, you are going the wrong direction. The passage on the left will lead you to the stairs. Be sure to watch your step, they can be tricky, and not in the normal way. If you make it down the stairs, follow the current of the water and it will take you to him. But be warned, Erik may not be happy to see you."

"Erik?"

"The Phantom. I do not think that he has forgiven Chri...I mean, the Countess, and with her he has cast away the rest of the world as well."

Orielle settled her shoulders resolutely. "Then we shall get along well, for it was the Countess who sent me to the workhouse. I bear few fond feelings for her outside of her telling me of his existence." She then turned back toward the left-hand passageway and left Meg in the dark, wondering if she hadn't just sent the girl to her death.

Orielle walked at a brisk pace, trying to keep warm in the drafty passages. This quickly brought her to the top of the stairs. "That woman didn't know what she was talking about. Just look at those stairs. They're wide, and dry, and there's even a lot of light in here." She stepped down, testing, and then tore down the stairs in a half-run. "Nothing to it...AHHH!" The stone stair opened up beneath her, casting her into a dark hole. She hit the floor, hard, and heard a painful snap. She tried to stand up, but when she put weight on her left ankle, she fell to the floor and writhed in pain. It was broken. "Someone help me! Help me, please!" she screamed, then broke into tears. Her sobs shook her body along with shivers of cold. Finally, the cold and pain drove her into a half-conscious state. She didn't even notice when a dark figure opened the door of the chamber, lifted her limp frame, and carried her away.

She awoke to soft organ music. She was lying in a strange bed, with a curtain pulled around it. Her ankle was wrapped tightly, and only throbbed slightly as she rose from the bed and pushed back the curtain, searching for the source of the music. She hobbled across the slightly uneven stone floor toward a figure seated at the large organ across the room. He seemed not to notice her until she was right behind him. Without looking up, he said tersely, "You shouldn't be walking on that ankle yet. It was a bad break."

"It doesn't hurt that badly, and it got me where I needed to go."

The man spun around and looked her in the face, half of his own hidden behind a white mask. "If you come to ask me to teach you, then you have wasted your time. I have had one pupil, and she betrayed me. I will not allow that to happen again."

"And it will not happen again. I will devote myself to your teaching; I have no other choice." He turned away, a look of disgust on his face. "Please, I beg you...Erik."

At that, his face changed to a mask of surprise. It had been so long since anyone had used his real name. He looked back at her, seeing the pleading look on her face. He sighed. "Fine. I will teach you, but you must obey me perfectly. I am the master, you are the student. You will do nothing without my permission, and when I deem you ready, I will be the one to present you to the owner of the Opera Populaire."

"Yes, sir."

He stood, walked to a high-backed chair and sat down. "Now, let me hear what I have to work with."

She nodded, and began the only opera song she knew. "Dear April child, are you dreaming of June? Like a tender young flower, awaiting summer's bloom. Dear April child... What?" she said, because as she sang he had begun to chuckle to himself.

Through his hardly suppressed laughter, he said, "You sound like a goat." She looked terribly hurt by that remark, so he continued quickly. "You lack finesse; polish. That I can teach you. We shall begin today."

Erik was a hard teacher. He expected nothing less than perfection, and often, when Orielle's attempts fell short and he berated her, it was only with much self-discipline that she did not break down into tears. But, as time progressed, her voice improved and developed an almost angelic quality, and although it did not seem this way, Erik was softening. Slowly but steadily his young protégé was finding a place in his heart. Perhaps it was the way she sat at his side as he played his music, entranced, attentive. Perhaps it was her eagerness to please him. Whatever it was, he was doing what he had vowed never to do again. He was falling for her, and he greatly feared allowing her to leave him for the Opera.

But finally the day came, early in spring, that he knew he must let her have her chance. "Orielle..."

"Yes?" she answered him, not moving her eyes from the mirror in which she was brushing her long brown hair.

"The Opera Populaire is casting today for its production of "Rigoletto". You will go to the audition, and you will win the part of Gilda. You will give this letter to the manager; it is a letter of recommendation. It is time for you to shine."

Her eyes lit up, and without thinking she threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, thank you, Erik, thank you."

Hiding his surprise, he allowed her to stay where she was for a moment, then reluctantly pushed her away. "Go now, Orielle, or you will be late." She scampered away to the boat, and as she pushed it away from the shore, he added softly, too softly for her to hear, "And do not leave me forever, my little songbird."

The new owner of the Opera Populaire was a rich young man named Gaston Girardeau. He was not overly fond of opera, but he was fond of the attentions of young chorus girls looking for a big break and willing to do anything for it, so being the owner and manager of an opera house was quite to his liking. His current toy was a young woman named Giselle Leroux, whom he had given the lead part of Gilda in return for her "attentions". He had not, however figured on the appearance of a young dark-haired angel asking to audition for that very same part. "And who, may I ask, are you?"

"My name is Orielle Dumont." She handed him the letter. "This is a letter of recommendation from my instructor."

Gaston took it from her, and read aloud. "Dear Monsieur Girardeau, I am sure that your predecessors Firmin and Andre warned you of the existence of a "Phantom of the Opera", which I am certain you dismissed as a fallacy. Let me assure you, I do exist. This young woman is my protégé, Miss Orielle Dumont. You have surely heard of my former student, Miss Christine Daae, and I can assure you that Miss Dumont is by far her superior. You will cast her as Gilda in your performance of Verdi's Rigoletto, or risk my great displeasure, as well as embarrassment over having missed the greatest soprano to ever sing a note. I remain, your humble servant, O.G." He looked to Orielle, who waited for his reaction. "You shall have to give your master my regrets, but the part of Gilda has already been cast. But, sing for me, perhaps we may find you a place among the chorus-girls."

Orielle made no comment, but began singing Gilda's beautiful aria, Caro Nome, "Gaultier Malde, this is the name of my love, so deeply felt upon my heart! Cherished name; when first I heard, Made my heart beat uncontrolled. You will always be the word, To remind of love's sweet hold, All my thoughts, my true desires, Fly to you whom I adore, On the day my breath expires, The last name I speak is yours."

Gaston was speechless. "Incredible. You are my new Gilda. Rehearsals begin tomorrow."

Orielle flew off to tell Erik, but was stopped by a very relieved Meg. "So, he did agree to teach you. All this time I thought that he had done something horrible to you."

Orielle shook her head. "Nothing worse than any other strict teacher would do. Now, if you would excuse me, I must tell Erik of this."

She found him pounding away at his organ, so loudly that he didn't even hear her approach. She slipped her hands onto his shoulders and bent down until her lips were level with his ear. "I got the part!"

The brooding look on his face disappeared, and the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen from him replaced it. "I knew you would. You sing like an angel, that man would be mad not to cast you in the lead."

Orielle couldn't help herself; she hugged him again. "I couldn't have done it without you, Erik."

Over the course of the two weeks of rehearsals, Erik noticed a change in Orielle. She seemed to glow, and wandered about in a dreamlike state most of the time. This distressed him. He had seen it before, in Christine. She was in love, certainly with another man, for who could love a monster like himself? Perhaps it was the young manager; he certainly seemed to be attracted to her. Whoever it was, he was certain that if he ever saw them together, his life would end.

On the opening night, Erik was there to watch Orielle sing. The audience loved her; her sweetness flowed through the songs of the innocent Gilda, and her performance was flawless. He found his way across the scaffolds to the backstage area, where he was about to drop down and congratulate her until he saw Gaston appear beside her. His worst fears were realized, he wanted to go and end it all, but something compelled him to stay."

Gaston slipped his arm around her waist. "Your performance was superb, Orielle."

Orielle deftly slid out of his grasp. "Thank you, Monsieur Girardeau."

"Come now, Orielle. Call me Gaston."

"I'd rather not, monsieur." She tried to hurry away, but he arrested her flight by grabbing her arm.

"Orielle, don't be coy. I know what you want, and I know what I want."

Orielle squirmed. "I want you to let me go. And I'm afraid you won't be getting what you want. I love another man, a much better man than you."

"Miss Dumont, I get what I want, and I want you."

He pulled her close, and she screamed. "Let me go!" His hands wandered, searching. She pounded her fists against his chest. "Let me go! Somebody help me! Erik! Help me!"

Erik couldn't leave her there. He swooped down from the rafters, startling Gaston and causing him to let go of Orielle. She sank to the floor, sobbing. Erik had his hands around Gaston's throat in a trice. He glared into his eyes and spoke. "If you ever touch her again, I will hang you from the scaffolds above the stage, as I did my last victim. Do I make myself clear?" The fear in Gaston's eyes was answer enough. Erik cast him aside, then bent and gathered Orielle into his arms. She locked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, and he carried her away, back to his home.

They reached the underground lair, and Orielle finally let go of him. He turned away, unable to look at her. "So, who is he?"

She was quite a sight, with tears still streaking her face and a puzzled look. "He who?"

"The man. The one you spoke of to Girardeau. The one you..." Here a look of pain crossed his face, "love."

She looked at him sorrowfully. She put her hand alongside his face. "Oh Erik, is that what has been bothering you? You thought I was in love with another man? I was speaking of you."

He still would not look at her. "This cannot be. You cannot love a gargoyle like me." He looked back at her. "You have never seen the man behind the mask." At this, he pulled off his mask and cast it aside. He braced himself for her loathing grimace, but instead a totally different look crossed her face.

Orielle leaned close to him, laying her perfect porcelain cheek against his reddened, deformed one. "I love you, Erik." She pulled back and kissed his cheek lightly. "All of you."

He couldn't speak, only pull her into his arms and kiss her, and thank heaven above for sending him this angel.


End file.
